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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678237">If You Want Blood (You Got It)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBones/pseuds/CatBones'>CatBones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Slayer (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood Kink, M/M, backstage sex, stage blood as lube, takes place some time between the SOH and SITA albums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:27:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatBones/pseuds/CatBones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just Tom, Jeff, and a couple gallons of stage blood drenching them from top to bottom--and they're about to find out how nasty they can get with it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Araya/Jeff Hanneman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If You Want Blood (You Got It)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slime_Qween/gifts">Slime_Qween</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Crossposted from Rockfic because they dinged me for formatting, so the original post will most likely get deleted despite my attempts to correct them. Their formatting rules are convoluted at worst, confusing at best (especially when you have to fight against their UI pulled directly from the stone age and format every textual flourish with HTML. Shrug emoji), so I'm sharing here for backup and because the rest of the world deserves more Tom/Jeff content.</p><p>Anyhow, I managed to finesse a fic into their Ficmas in July event and there was a single Slayer request that needed to be filled: "Tom/Jeff; fucking after a show while covered in stage blood."</p><p>Enjoy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saying that playing live shows gives Tom an adrenaline rush is an understatement--it's <em>so</em> much more than that.<br/>
<br/>
There's just something about the electricity of the crowd--the raw energy of it all--that has the band firing on all cylinders, and it's the closest thing he can get to a high without actually putting something up his nose. Slayer's shows are explosive enough as is, but tonight far exceeds anything they've ever done. For their encore--<em>Raining Blood</em>--they somehow managed to convince their production crew that yes, they want it to actually <em>rain fucking blood</em> on them, and it was going to happen one way or another. A fantasy of sorts ever since Jeff penned the title a few years back, Slayer was determined to contrive this win eventually, and tonight is the night it finally happens.<br/>
<br/>
As Kerry and Jeff drive feedback through their amps for those opening notes, Tom feels it--just a drop at first, then another, and another, and as he stands there at his spot in front of the mic, it comes pouring down from the lighting rig, baptising him in a wash of red. The crowd goes fucking <em>nuts</em> when they realise what's happening and it just drives the band harder, feeds them that energy they crave so deeply, and by the time they finish their set and strut backstage, it's all they can do to keep themselves from tearing the dressing room apart because they still have so much fire in them and they need to unload.<br/>
<br/>
Kerry and Dave spend maybe two minutes each smearing the stage blood off of themselves before deciding that their top priority is getting to the post-show party as fast as possible. Not wanting to hold them up any further, Tom encourages them to get a head start and go off without him, assuring them he'll catch up in a moment. He just needs to make sure that his bass gets taken care of because who knows what this red goo is gonna do to his instrument if he doesn't get it off. The pair give him nothing past a simple shrug and take him for his word before making for the door.<br/>
<br/>
He's fiddling with a tuning key on his bass when he sees him in his peripherals: Jeff, off in the corner, sparing the same love and care to his instrument--and absolutely <em>drenched</em> in stage blood. There's just something about the way the slick red clings to the guitarist's skin that demands Tom's attention, but he's quick to leave it with nothing past a stolen glance. It's not like he's been nursing a physical attraction towards his bandmate for the last few years, anyways, so he tries not to feed it further. But...<em>goddamn</em>...the way that it stains his skin, the bright red streaks that smear across his face as he brushes his bangs from his eyes with a hand, the way it contrasts so sharply with the pale blond of his hair and causes the blue of his eyes to pop even more leaves Tom feeling like he's walking on razor blades.<br/>
<br/>
Of all fucking things, Tom didn't expect the sight of Jeff Hanneman drenched in stage blood to completely set him off. Of course, he's absolutely entertained the idea in the past--worked certain visuals into his head during times when it was just him and his hand in the shower or alone in his bunk on the tour bus--but he reaches for his beer and takes a noisy gulp; a distraction is all he needs.<br/>
<br/>
"Hey, Araya," Jeff's voice floats across the room and Tom tries his best to push down the walnut sized lump now occupying his throat. "Do you have a string-winder over there by any chance? Mine are fucking destroyed. We're both gonna need to slap some fresh strings on as who knows what the fuck is in this shit. Probably corrosive. Even got it in my fucking pickups."<br/>
<br/>
Tom steals another glance from across the dressing room and sees Hanneman clutching his guitar by the fretboard, raising it to eye level so he can inspect just how much of the gunk managed to seep into the Humbuckers. He swears to himself as he tries to pick out globs that have crusted over the casing with a nail.<br/>
<br/>
"<em>Fuck</em>, man, it even got down underneath the tone knobs. Hope it didn't fuck with the pots or caps."<br/>
<br/>
<em>Red</em>. That's the only thing that Tom can fixate on at the moment. How Jeff is completely painted in <em>red</em>. The way it's smattered across him, soaked into his shirt and trousers and leather jacket, and every little thing--down to the gentle <em>pitter-patter</em> on the tile as it drips from him--is enough to send a searing heat straight to Tom's cock, and he can feel himself beginning to strain against his jeans.<br/>
<br/>
"How's your bass holding up, Tom? You definitely got soaked more than I did."<br/>
<br/>
He can't help but notice the way the fake blood just <em>smears</em> so nicely across that skin and there's a burning curiosity in him that wants to trail his fingers across Jeff's body, gather that red in all of the right places, and then spread it over parts of him where it definitely shouldn't go.<br/>
<br/>
"...Tom?"<br/>
<br/>
It takes a moment for him to register that Jeff just caught him undressing him with his eyes and he averts his gaze, laughs it off nervously, flashes him that broad-mouthed smile he's so well known for. Hanneman raises a curious eyebrow at him because something's not adding up and he starts heading over to where Tom is seated.<br/>
<br/>
<em>Shit.</em><br/>
<br/>
"You alright there, man?"<br/>
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just...thinking about how I'm gonna clean up this shit, that's all."<br/>
"...Sure. And that's why you've been eyeing me like a piece of meat on a butcher's block from across the room?"<br/>
<br/>
Tom nearly chokes--Jeff is <em>so</em> fucking confident in his statement that it verges on upsetting, and it pulses in him like an electric shock--but what's even more horrifying is that he picked up on it so easily. Has Tom really been that obvious all along? Even worse, is Jeff just that intuitive? The pair have always seemed to occupy the same wavelength, sometimes to uncanny degrees. Often it pans out in the singer's favour, but other times...it lands him in situations such as this.<br/>
<br/>
Either way, it's not helping the fact that Jeff is now towering over him, arms folded tightly across his chest while wearing this absolutely fiendish grin as if to say <em>gotcha!</em> He's so close that Tom could easily reach out and touch him if he wanted to--touch him and <em>smear that blood all over him</em>--but the bassist holds back.<br/>
<br/>
<em>For now.</em><br/>
<br/>
"Admit it: You like what you see, Araya."<br/>
<br/>
<em>For fuck's sake</em>, these smarmy comments are like gut punches and Jeff knows it. The singer racks his bass on its stand and rises from the bench so he can get on Jeff's level and meet him eye-to-eye. He's got a few good inches of height on his bandmate, but that still never stopped Jeff from extracting whatever he wanted from the bassist and, currently, it seems like Jeff is doing all he can to goad Tom into acting on his impulses. Then again...Hanneman has always been an enabler, now that he comes to think of it, and it's not like Tom has ever told him to stop.<br/>
<br/>
"C'mon, Tom," the guitarist presses on and as he slowly runs a tongue across his bottom lip, he sees the full-body shudder start in the bassist's shoulders and make its way down to his knees. <em>Good</em>. He takes a step in, Tom responds by taking a step back, and this continues until Hanneman has his bandmate's back to the wall, pinned in place like a tack. "Don't tell me you weren't completely hard when the stage-blood shower got dumped on us."<br/>
<br/>
Tom swallows down the ball of nerves now lodged in his throat as Jeff shortens what little of the gap is left between them, so close now that Tom can see the individual streaks and smears from Jeff's fingers through the blood caking his face, and he struggles out an exhale between clenched teeth because <em>fuck</em> this is doing things to him. Steel blue stares out from a sea of red and Tom knows that Jeff is a powder keg just waiting to explode if he would just give him the chance.<br/>
<br/>
"Jeff."<br/>
"Because I sure as fuck was. Am."<br/>
<br/>
Slowly, the blond presses against him at the hips and--sure enough--he's not lying, and Tom can't stop himself from gripping his bandmate by the lapels of his leather jacket, yanking him in, and crushing their mouths together.<br/>
<br/>
They're hungry--too hungry, almost--and as they tear into each other, Jeff breaks for air to get in one hearty laugh at the bassist's expense.<br/>
<br/>
"I fucking knew you were getting off to this, Tom."<br/>
"Shut up."<br/>
"Oh, I like it when you get snappy."<br/>
<br/>
There's a knee in Tom's groin now and he chokes down a whine when it slides against him, and the smile that tugs at the corner of Jeff's mouth as he bites down on his bloodied bottom lip has the bassist rapidly weakening in the knees.<br/>
<br/>
"What's this, Tom?" Jeff grinds his knee into the bassist's cock as it strains against blood-soaked denim, knowing he's got the singer right where he wants him. When Araya can't produce anything past a whine, the guitarist doubles-down and squeezes him by the face--or at least he would, if he could actually get a grip on Tom's cheeks. The stage blood is doing a fantastic job of making sure his fingers just slide right off and--<em>hey, this wouldn't make a half-bad lube</em>, now that he thinks of it.<br/>
<br/>
Instead, Jeff puts the flat of his palm on the side of Tom's face and just <em>smears</em> that stage blood from one cheek to the other. As the bassist's head rolls with the motion, the guitarist swears he can hear the the faintest little moan bubble past his lips, and it makes him fire off a string of expletives under his breath--<em>fuck</em>, it's really getting him going, isn't it?<br/>
<br/>
"You like it when I do that?" the edge to Jeff's voice is predacious, hungry, and <em>thank fucking god</em> Tom's back is to the wall because he's ready to drop like a bag of bricks. Too flustered to fight back, he opts to shut Jeff up by snagging a fistful of blond hair and sealing his lips back over his. The guitarist responds with a laugh against his mouth and trails his fingers down the bassist's jawline, smudging around the slick red that's gathered there, and the hand in his hair only tightens its hold.<br/>
<br/>
"You like it when I do that? Smear this stuff all over your face? Or, would you like it more if you were doing that to me?" Hanneman's voice rattles like a chain and it's obvious he's enjoying the grip on his hair just a little too much, even though the stage blood has slicked it up enough to keep Tom from truly being able to yank him around.<br/>
<br/>
"Maybe I do."<br/>
"Sick fuck."<br/>
"It just looks so good on you, though. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste."<br/>
"Just what are you planning on using it for?"<br/>
"I don't think you want to go there."<br/>
<br/>
The vocalist is playing coy now, his fallback for when he's too riled up to admit he wants something, and all it does is serve as the igniting spark Jeff needs to set himself off. He quickly reminds Tom of the knee in his groin and siphons a sharp whine from his bandmate when he grinds it back in.<br/>
<br/>
"It's just you, me, and a couple dozen gallons of stage blood covering us from top to bottom. Show me how badly you wanna get nasty with it, then."<br/>
<br/>
Within seconds, Jeff finds himself pinned to the wall; all of the beer in his system has made him pliant and it takes Tom a laughable second to reverse their roles. Araya's <em>really</em> using those few inches of height in his favour now, though, and as Jeff lifts his eyes to find Tom's he can feel the bassist's hands tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. It's shucked off with ease and then there's fingers peeling up the fabric of his shirt, plastered against his body like a second skin and soaked heavy from the stage blood. Crimson <em>drip-drip-drips</em> from the hem as Tom hikes it up Jeff's body and soon little droplets of red are speckling the guitarist's chest, where they start to run. They bleed down over pale skin and twist through a golden happy trail that continues south until it sinks below a leather waistband, right where Tom wants to go most.<br/>
<br/>
The bassist shudders as he hooks his fingers through the belt loops and pulls Jeff closer by the hips. He stalls for just a moment too long after catching sight of the tent pitched tight in his bandmate's trousers before finally ghosting his hands across it to fumble with the button and fly, earning himself a round laugh from the blond.<br/>
<br/>
"Oh, I'll give you something to laugh about," Tom quips, now on his third attempt to undo the button. He's too easily distracted though (but, honestly, <em>who wouldn't be?</em>), both by the promise of what lies just on the other side of that button and the prospect of getting to smatter stage blood all over it. The notion alone has Tom breathing so hard he may as well be panting, but when he finally manages to navigate the button-fly open and peel the leather down around Jeff's hips, the sight of the guitarist's cock springing out with lazy bounce has Tom nearly choking on his own air.<br/>
<br/>
As much as he wants to just stand and stare in slack-jawed admiration at his bandmate's junk, he's quick to get his hands right where he wants them. Slowly, he rakes his fingers through the scarlet caking Jeff's chest and trails them down, following the crease to his navel, sinking lower and lower until he stops right at the base of the guitarist's shaft. Jeff has too much pride to whine, but when their eyes meet, Tom can see the neediness that glosses over them like varnish.<br/>
<br/>
"Don't give me that look," Tom snips as he runs a finger along the underside of the guitarist's shaft until it crests over the head, and the trail of red he smears in little circles over it is just so, <em>so</em> satisfying.<br/>
<br/>
"You told me to show you how nasty I wanted to get with this shit? Well, don't make me make you eat those words."<br/>
"I'm just afraid of dying from boredom at the rate you're going, Araya," Jeff's response is lukewarm at best--god, he's just so fucking <em>good</em> at playing apathetic while still brandishing that razor-edge attitude--and it works, because Tom has himself curling his fingers around Jeff's cock in seconds. The guitarist hisses out a satisfied noise from between clenched teeth and rolls his hips, to which Tom responds with a squeeze.<br/>
<br/>
There's red smattering the entire length of Jeff's shaft now and it only makes the feeling of Tom's grip sliding around it better--gives it just enough slippery friction to really feel good--and it doesn't take much to get Jeff bucking into Tom's hand. The blond clamps two strong hands down on the bassist's shoulders, leans his weight against the wall behind him, angles his hips for leverage, and just <em>fucks</em> like there's no tomorrow. While Tom watches the guitarist slowly come apart at the seams, he focuses on the red slick as it gathers and smears around the head of his bandmate's cock while still allowing for skin to slide against skin like silk, and it occurs to him--<em>this would make a great lube.</em><br/>
<br/>
Jeff is nearing the end of his rope--Tom can see it in his face, the way his eyes are dark and hooded over and how he chews on his lip like a bit--so when the bassist shrinks down his grip with his index finger and thumb and tightens that hold, it takes just a few more thrusts to have Hanneman unloading thick ropes of cum across his hand.<br/>
<br/>
Now it's Jeff's turn to be thankful for the wall against his back because his vision has all but fuzzed out from the climax, but he isn't spared a second to catch his breath as Araya isn't finished with him yet. He hears the unmistakable sound of a fly unzipping and when he looks down, Tom has already pulled himself from his jeans and is standing stiff at full mast. What's even more delicious, however, is the way that he's already pawing at himself with a handful of stage blood, thick and gooey and <em>fuck</em>, if Jeff hadn't just came, he'd be hard all over again.<br/>
<br/>
"Your leg. <em>Up</em>," Tom's voice is a whip cracking and Jeff is more than eager to comply; leather pants are peeled down around thighs, he hitches up a leg, and the bassist quickly hooks an arm under his knee and shifts his weight into him, bracing his back flat the wall. The bassist crams an arm down between them and then Jeff feels something prodding at his ass before hitting the mark and plunging in. It wrenches a clenched-jaw growl from him before a second finger is added and it slides in easily with help from the healthy coating of stage-blood. The digits do their work, pumping and twisting and curling and the blond has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from getting loud--he's not about to let Tom claim that victory over him (at least, not yet). Tom withdraws his fingers, leaving him painfully empty, but soon there's something else nudging up against him and Jeff unclamps his hands from the bassist's shoulders so he can hook his arms around his neck. If this is going where he thinks it is, he'll need all the support he can get.<br/>
<br/>
Tom attempts a thrust--it's shallow and awkward, and there's something about the angle that just isn't quite right--and he pops off some colourful language when he goes for a second push, only to fail on entry. Those four inches of height he has on Jeff are providing more of a headache than anticipated, so when Tom slides a hand to the guitarist's leg that's still supporting his weight and gives his thigh a few taps, Jeff knows what to do. He lets Tom hike up his other leg, hook his arms under both knees, press their chests flush, and drive him into the wall like a nail. The bassist is stronger than he gets credit for and whereas Jeff isn't a walking twig like Dave or Kerry, he's not <em>too</em> hefty...but he has put on a few pounds, especially since he kicked his coke habit and replaced it with Heineken after recently wrapping up work on South of Heaven. As a matter of fact, he's filled out nicely in his thighs and ass--and Tom has been more than gleefully vocal about it--but still, Jeff has always been a broad-shouldered, well built, slightly-thicker-than-average guy (despite standing at only five feet and seven inches), and the fact that Tom is holding him against the wall with sheer upper body strength alone is impressive--if not unquestionably hot, seeing as he's about to get the soul fucked out of him in this position, too.<br/>
<br/>
Jeff feels his bandmate widen his stance, shift his weight from one foot to the other, and his breath snags in his throat as he waits for the plunge when Tom completely stills himself to realign for entry. The feeling of the initial push isn't far off from the feeling of cocking a gun and waiting to pop off a shot--the burning anticipation in those few silent seconds hangs over his head like a shroud that only Tom can lift--and as the bassist breaches and enters, Jeff can't stop the growl that claws its way up his throat as those first few inches slide in.<br/>
<br/>
Araya is quick to hilt himself and the slick from the stage blood--paired with a little help from gravity working in his favour--makes it almost <em>too</em> easy to bottom out in the blond with a sharp exhale. Jeff grunts out another noise from deep in his throat and Tom feels the arms thrown around him tighten, and that's the signal to go.<br/>
The position they're in makes it easy for the bassist to start up a steady rhythm, bouncing the blond against hips, and as Tom fucks up into his bandmate he presses in closer, ghosts his lips over the red-stained skin of guitarist's neck and peppers it with a mixture of nips and sucks.<br/>
He's got Jeff writhing against him now, and Hanneman is doing a fantastic job of getting that stage blood smudged <em>everywhere</em>. It cakes his face, his neck, his arms, his chest--every inch of visible skin, from the scarlet that clings to his hairline down to the bright finger streaks that drag across his hips--and it's setting Tom on fire. He snaps his hips up harder, bucks himself deeper into the blond who has no choice but to roll with the motions--but, judging by the sounds spilling out of him, Jeff is enjoying this just as much, if not <em>more</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Tom has entertained this visual in his mind's eye countless times and over, has secretly fed this desire to get a blood-soaked Hanneman squirming in his grip, and now that it's finally happening he's about to go absolutely feral. He traces his nose against the curve of Jeff's jawline as he continues to drill him against the wall before finally sinking his teeth into the skin of his neck, and the sharp whine that he's rewarded with has stars exploding in his chest.<br/>
<br/>
Urgency sets in, however, and Tom kicks up his pace; not only is he just a few shallow thrusts from busting his load, he's unsure of how much longer he can pin Jeff in this position for. His arms are already trembling, threatening to collapse from the strain, and it's not helping that Jeff is now hooking his legs around Tom's waist and helping him keep time with his thrusts--<em>needy bastard</em>, but then again, topping from the bottom has always been so very Hanneman. The bassist snarls against him, bites into his neck just a little harder, and he hears the guitarist sputter out some creative swears under his breath which just encourages Tom to plough up into him with renewed aggression.<br/>
<br/>
"C'mon, Tom, I know you can fuck harder than that," the blond struggles between clenched teeth and he continues his goading until he's succeeded in getting himself practically pile-driven into the wall. The sound of wet squelches and slaps fill the dressing room as Araya drives on, and that feeling of a cocked pistol has taken up residence in his belly again. He thrusts harder and deeper and faster until it threatens to fire off and then, without warning, he's biting down into Jeff's shoulder hard enough to break skin, hitching his legs up until his knees are practically to his ears, crushing the blond between himself and the wall as he sheaths himself down to the balls and empties a load right into the guitarist's ass.<br/>
<br/>
Tom's knees couldn't have chosen a more perfect time to give out--he collapses against Jeff, taking the guitarist with him as they slide down the wall and crumple in a mess of heaving chests and tangled bloody limbs. While the haze starts to clear from Tom's vision, he hears that deep, brassy laugh from the guitarist and it's round and warm and so full of life and absolutely not what you would expect from some punk-ass blond smothered with fake blood who writes songs about butchering people alive for fun--and Tom <em>loves it</em>. Jeff wiggles himself out from Tom's tangle of arms and legs and he searches for the bassist's face before clasping him by the cheeks with slippery fingers and pressing their lips together one last time.<br/>
<br/>
"<em>Fuck</em>," he breathes out, still riding the tail-end of exhilaration from it all, "<em>Fucking Christ</em>, Tom, we need to do that again."<br/>
<br/>
Tom, back still pressed to the floor in a puddle of stage blood, just offers the blond a broad-mouthed smile and joins him in laughter. The whole scenario was so fucking absurd, yet so enjoyable, and he's not about to refuse Hanneman's proposal because it was that fucking good. Who knew how enticing a little stage blood could be?<br/>
<br/>
"Absolutely," he confirms and it makes something in Jeff's eyes shine--the guy really has a thing for blood, anyways, and the buckets that were dumped from the lighting rig that night were his idea, after all--and as Jeff pulls himself up to a sitting position, he extends his hand to Tom who clasps it graciously and lets his bandmate pull him along until both of them are sitting with their backs to the wall.<br/>
<br/>
"But only under one condition," the bassist is quick to add, almost as an afterthought.<br/>
"And that is...?"<br/>
"Next time, I'm the one geting fucked."<br/>
<br/>
Another belly-laugh, and Jeff circles his arms around the singer and pulls him in. As Araya rests his head on Hanneman's shoulder, he sees a distinct circle of teeth imprinted into the soft skin right above the collarbone and the fresh crimson that leaks from it. If the stage blood didn't have him absolutely salivating as is, then the prospect of the <em>real thing</em>...He forces down a shudder as it inches up the column of his spine. Still, he doubts it would be off the table for the blond--this is the man who's written songs about fucking corpses, after all--and he decides to test the waters.<br/>
<br/>
"One more thing, Jeff."<br/>
"Lay it on me."<br/>
"Maybe...maybe we shouldn't limit ourselves to just stage blood next time."<br/>
"<em>Oh?</em>" the guitarist's tone threatens to devour him and it makes Tom's mouth go dry.<br/>
"Yeah...yeah. Maybe we should experiment with the actual thing."<br/>
"...<em>fuck</em>, Araya, you really know how to yank my chain. You're gonna kill me."<br/>
<br/>
Tom just dissolves into laughter when he sees the flush creep across Jeff's face, already reddened from the stage blood and just reddening further from nerves.<br/>
<br/>
"We'll save that for next time, though," The bassist assures him before craning in and pressing a kiss to the guitarist's forehead.<br/>
"Good idea, because I don't think my body could handle anything else. I was on overload from the fake blood alone, but...<em>shit</em>, man..."<br/>
"Next time," Tom affirms. "Next time. You wanna get this shit cleaned off us and go catch up with Kerry and Dave? The party's probably raging at this point."<br/>
"Gimme a few more beers and I <em>might</em> tag along," the guitarist says with an easy smile. Tom is already on his feet and this time it's his turn to extend a hand to his bandmate.<br/>
<br/>
"Sounds like a plan."</p>
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